


Every Single Face 'Round Here

by J (j_writes)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Probably not afraid of much, are you?"  He shook his head, and she grinned.  "Around here, we take that as a challenge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Single Face 'Round Here

**Author's Note:**

> (contains some canon-typical violence, references to emotional trauma, and sex occurring while the participants are drinking. avoid if these things aren't for you.)

_"Command? You're breaking up on me, please repeat."_  
 _"Hold on, I'm not talking to you, Wash. [muffled] And - and you're sure? Okay. [clear] It's Agent Maine, Wash."_  
 _"What?"_  
 _"Please confirm last transmission, Agent Washington."_  
 _"Maine? How can that be? It's - "_  
 _"Please_ confirm _, Recovery One."_  
 _"Yeah. It's him. It's the Meta."_  
\- RvB 6x07  
_______________

He was laughing when she met him, and it wasn't until later that she realized how unusual that was.

They were gathered in the hangar bay, York gesturing widely as he told some story, Connie sitting on a crate with her heels kicking at it rhythmically, Carolina leaning beside her, trying to look bored. Maine's back was to the door, but as Niner approached, she could see his shoulders shaking, and hear the low rasp of his laugh.

"Suit up, kiddos!" she called, and saw Maine snap to attention. The others' reactions were more casual, but Connie hopped off the crate and York let his arms fall to his sides. Carolina stood and tossed Niner a lazy salute before gesturing the others towards the Pelican.

"Welcome aboard, stranger," Niner said, slapping Maine on the shoulder, the clash of their armor ringing out in the hangar, and he nodded down at her, face hidden behind his gleaming helmet. She inspected his armor and gave an approving nod. "Good look," she told him. "Very warrior chic. You're going to intimidate the fuck out of anyone who crosses your path. Unlike some people around here," she added, poking Carolina between the shoulderblades as she passed her.

"Never discount the power of letting people underestimate you," Carolina replied, dodging out of Niner's range. "Although I guess that strategy works better for some than others," she admitted, looking Maine over.

"There are two rules on my plane, big guy," Niner said, turning to walk backwards in front of them. "Follow them, and you'll do just fine."

"Don't fuck with the pilot, and don't fuck with the pilot," Connie said. "How'd I do?"

"Gold star to CT," Niner replied. She turned back to Maine, who inclined his head like he was listening, so she continued. "Rule number one, you follow your orders on the ground, but up there, my word is law." He nodded silently, and she looked at him steadily until he replied.

"Rule two?" His voice was low and quiet, gravelly and muffled by his helmet.

"Someday, we're going to run into a scenario where you'll want to trust your jetpack instead of me. Don't do that." She looked over at York. "You tell him about Georgia yet?" York shook his head. "Good. Don't." She looked at Maine. "Whatever you're imagining, it's worse." She turned on her heel and stepped up into the cargo bay. "You afraid of heights?" He shook his head. "Probably not afraid of much, are you?" Another shake. She grinned at him. "Around here, we take that as a challenge." She slapped the button for the bay door as she passed it on her way to the cockpit. "Strap in, new guy. I don't want to find out what exciting new ways you can find to dent my hull by bouncing off of it. Trust me, these jokers have given it a run for their money."

Connie made some smartass comment as she moved out of earshot, so she turned on the comm as she settled into her seat to say, "Can it, CT." Carolina added something, too low to hear, and she could see Maine's shoulders shaking again on the feed from the bay. "Laugh now, buddy," she called. "You're in for a hell of a ride."

She didn't bother to mention that she wasn't really referring to the flight at all. If he was smart, he'd figure that out on his own. If he wasn't, he wouldn't last long enough for it to matter.  
_______________

She was too busy cursing out her instrument panel to turn when she heard the cockpit door slide open, but she could see the reflection of Maine's helmet in the window.

"Not now," she said tersely. The Pelican veered sideways around one of the ships bearing down on them, and she narrowly steered it along the ship's hull, peeling off just before the wing. She steadied the controls, then spared Maine a glance. "North?"

"He'll live."

"Got pretty ugly down there."

Maine's reflection raised a shoulder noncommittally, and he climbed up to settle into into the copilot's seat. She frowned in his direction, hoping the sentiment translated through the tilt of her helmet.

"Don't take this the wrong way, buddy, but if you're not going to do anything useful right now, get the hell out of my cockpit." He studied the console. "Carolina will break each of your body parts slowly if you recalibrate anything." She dodged two incoming missiles, and dropped a flare for them to chase. "Seriously, what - do you even know how to fly?"

"No," Maine replied.

"Then - " she began, but he tilted his head, considering the controls in front of him, and reached to take them, carefully taking aim. She turned back to the windshield just as the cannons burst to life, ripping a neat hole through the next ship in their path. "Hm," she said, eyeing his work. She waved a hand over her shoulder at him. "Carry on." He lined up another shot as she swerved away from the engagement zone, and landed a direct hit on one of the enemy ships. " _Damn,_ " she said appreciatively. "You're not bad."

He huffed a sound that might have been thanks, and together they maneuvered to a safe distance, where she contacted the _Mother of Invention_ , letting them know they were on their way with wounded. She set a course, and craned her neck to look back at Maine.

"You handled one of these before?" she asked him. He shook his head. "No? Could have fooled me."

He shrugged. "I like weapons."

"Well, you're in the right line of work, then." He nodded wordlessly. "Okay, you've earned my keeping quiet to Carolina about you playing with her toys." She pointed at him sternly. "Only in an emergency, though. I don't want rumors starting that I can't handle my own guns." With anyone else, she probably would have extended that into a lewd joke, but Maine just looked at her impassively through his helmet, so she waved at the door. "Go see how York's holding up with North, would you?" He stood and turned for the door. She steered them back towards the ship, but added, "Hey, Maine?" as he stepped out into the hall, and waited for the quiet noise he made in reply. "Nice shooting."  
_______________

"ETA to your location, one minute, Maine," Niner transmitted, and took the crackle of static she received in reply as acknowledgement. She pulled up his feed on her screen, watching as he took out the guards on either side of the stairwell. "You know, not for nothing, but I'm getting a little lonely up here on these solo missions of yours. You're lucky your helmet feed's transmitting, or I'd probably just assume you were dead and leave you there."

He grunted something indistinct in reply, and she rolled her eyes.

"I get that you Freelancers are supposed to be independent agents and all, but a 'roger, 479er' every now and then probably wouldn't kill you," she continued, then paused, considering. "I mean, depending on the timing, I guess. I understand radio silence when you guys are on some stealth gig, but let's face it, you don't usually get tapped for that sort of job, do you?"

Maine didn't reply.

"I'm not asking for your life story or anything. Just, you know, a few words here and there? Hell, even Florida finds time to make conversation with me every once in a while, and covert ops are kind of his thing." She steered into the airspace above Maine's target, making a loop and watching his progress towards the roof on her feed. A brief flicker of motion on the roof caught her eye, and she cursed under her breath. "Hey, Maine? Looks like you've got company topside. Want me to take care of that for you?"

"Got it," he replied tersely.

"At your ten o'clock from the bulkhead," she told him. He burst out of the door, gun blazing, and she swung lower, waiting for him to clear the area. He dropped the guys easily, but they had barely hit the ground when the door across the way slammed open and a rush of guards emerged, bearing down on him. "Well, shit," Niner said eloquently, hovering and training her guns on the melee, waiting for the word. "Still got it?" she prompted as he tossed one of the guards from the tower, and the reply was strained but more or less affirmative. "You're a dangerous motherfucker, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yeah," he replied, running one guy through with his buddy's blade, and Niner grinned.

"There we go," she said, "now we've got a dialogue going. See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" She watched him take out the last few guys, and hit the controls for the bay door as he ignited his jetpack, sailing up to land hard in the cargo bay.

"Mission accomplished, _Mother of Invention_ ," she said, closing the bay doors and punching the engine. "We're headed home." She switched to the internal comm. "All good back there?" she asked, not really expecting a reply.

"Roger, 479er," Maine replied, and she couldn't tell through his helmet on the screen, but she was pretty sure it sounded like he was smiling.  
______________

She heard him coming, footsteps echoing hollowly in the hangar, and she didn't look up from where she was sprawled out across the wing of her Pelican, pieces scattered around her.

"Unless you know anything about cleaning and reassembly of my side cannons, I don't want to hear it, new guy," she called. "I'm still fixing your mess from yesterday, and it is too fucking early to deal with any more of your bullshit." A hand appeared over the edge of the wing, offering a steaming mug of coffee, and she scowled at it for a moment. "Don't think this lets you off the hook for - " she began, dropping down to reach for the mug, then cut herself off. "You're not Wash," she said, blinking.

"No," Maine agreed. He was in his armor, but his helmet was off, and he winced sympathetically as his eyes scanned over the debris scattered around her.

She sighed, setting the mug down among the mess. " _You_ don't know anything about maintenance on these fuckers, do you?"

She wasn't sure why she was even surprised when he replied, "Some."

She sighed. "Wash botched his extraction yesterday, and I ended up having to come in hot to a makeshift LZ with basically no clearance. Grenade sent tree bits all into my port side." She tapped the remaining piece of the cannon. "This guy was jammed all to fuck. We're all lucky the damn thing didn't explode when I tried to fire it on the way offworld." She reached for the mug, but paused as she lifted it, eyeing it suspiciously. "Wait. I thought this was an apology. Why are _you_ bringing me coffee?"

He waved a hand at the disaster in front of her.

She laughed. "So, what? Your new buddy told you he fucked up and you're apologizing on his behalf?" She shook her head. "I wouldn't get started covering his ass if I were you. That's a job you'll be doing for the rest of your life. Or the rest of his, whichever lasts longer." She lifted the mug to her lips and took a long sip. It was still warm enough to burn pleasantly going down. "Thanks, though." He jumped up to grab the edge of the wing and hung there by his fingertips for a few moments before hoisting himself up without any apparent effort at all. "Fucking show-off," she muttered, and he looked smug as he inspected the remaining part of the cannon. She carefully cleaned off one of the pieces and held it out to him. He looked down at it like it was foreign for a moment, then reached to take it from her hand, gloved fingers surprisingly delicate around it. "It'll go faster if you give me a hand," she pointed out, and he nodded, turning the piece over twice before reaching to twist it gingerly into place. She leaned in to inspect his work and nodded her approval, then cleaned off another piece and handed it to him. "What do you do, read the maintenance manuals on these things for fun?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

She blinked. "Wait, are you – " she met his eyes, and he didn't quite smile, but the corners of them crinkled just a little. "Did you just make a _joke_?" He reached to take the piece she was cleaning, and bent down over it carefully as he settled it into place. "You did, didn't you? Stop the presses!" she called to the empty hangar, "Agent Maine has a sense of humor!"

"Shh," he said, lifting a finger, and yeah, that was definitely the beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"What, you think people are all of a sudden going to be less intimidated by you because you crack a joke now and then? I don't know if you're aware, Mainer, but you're one scary motherfucker." She made a face. "Plus, it's not like the two things are in any way mutually exclusive. Florida's basically the textbook definition of jovial, and he's pretty much the most terrifying person I've ever met. Did you hear about the stunt he pulled at Outpost 42-C?" She shuddered. "If I ever get nightmares, they'll probably be about that mission." She cleaned off a few more pieces and watched him settle them into place. "Fine, though," she said, nudging his knee with her boot. "You want to play it like you're some kind of stone cold hardass, I'm game." She eyed him. "This is why you wear that helmet all the time, isn't it?"

"Not now," he pointed out.

"No, that's true. You're on my flight deck out of uniform, soldier. If you weren't being so damn useful, I'd report you."

He looked her over, in her worn fatigues, and said a lot of things without saying anything at all.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving a hand. "I outrank basically everyone on this deck of the ship. I could fix this plane in my skivvies, and no one would raise much of a fuss." He kept his focus carefully on the cannon, but she was pretty sure she wasn't imagining the way the back of his neck went faintly red. She was still debating whether or not to give him a hard time over it when the door at the far end of the hangar opened, revealing Wash standing there shifting from foot to foot. "Well, well," she called. "Look who it is."

She could practically see him steeling himself to cross the floor towards them. Maine looked up and waved, and Wash seemed to relax at the sight of him. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"She'll live," Niner replied, patting the hull of the Pelican. "Unfortunately," she added in an undertone, and Maine breathed out a sound that might have been a laugh. She reached for her coffee mug and held it up for Wash to see. "Could use a refill."

He hesitated, looking towards Maine. "A coffee run," he finally said flatly. "Really?"

"It's that, or you can get your ass up here and help us organize all of these very tiny, very important pieces, any one of which could get you blown up the next time you fly in this girl, if you're not careful." She smiled sweetly.

"Coffee," he said, nodding briskly. "Right."

"Make it two," she called after him as he turned on his heel, and he shot her the finger over his shoulder without turning. "Yeah," she said to Maine, "I think he'll do just fine." Maine nodded and reached to take the mug from her hand, looking into it and sighing when he realized she'd finished it. "Sorry, buddy," she said half-heartedly, then reached past him to pat the top of the cannon. "Hey, what do you say when we're done, we take this baby out for a spin, and you can test her out?" Maine brightened visibly, and she smiled at him. "Yeah," she drawled. "I know what the boys like. Take them out and show them my gun's bigger than theirs." She shrugged. "Plus, if the damn thing blows up, I'll make sure it's you who gets blamed in the official record."

"Thanks."

"Any time," she replied brightly. They got back to work, and when Washington appeared in the hangar doorway holding two mugs of coffee, he was met with an empty room, and the tail lights of a Pelican sailing away outside the hold.  
______________

"I think you should fight me."

Niner picked up a pair of staffs from along the wall, weighing and comparing them, and turned to toss one in Maine's direction. He caught it neatly and frowned at her.

"No."

It was late, and the training floor was dark and empty, which was the only reason she'd come in, but when Maine had crept in halfway through her warmup, surprisingly quiet outside of his armor, she'd just given him a smile and nod, and kept going.

"This place is usually reserved for you VIP types," she said as she settled down on the mat to stretch, "but I’m calling dibs tonight."

His face went shuttered as he took in the dark bruise spreading out across her temple to her cheekbone, and she reached a hand to gingerly touch the edge of it. "I'll have you know," she said, "I didn't actually _crash_. Things just got a little heated. I had to…improvise a little." He knelt beside her, examining her closer, and she gave him a wry shrug. "If I tell you it looks worse than it is, will you believe me?" He made a low noise and shook his head. "Yeah, didn't think so. The point is, though, I think I've earned the right to brush up on some of my ground combat skills right now, seeing as how they didn't serve me too well today."

They trained quietly alongside each other for a while, going at the bags, running through half-remembered forms on the mats, but then her eyes turned to the weapons lining the wall.

"No," he insisted, placing the staff back where it had come from.

"Fine," she said. "No weapons, then." She backed up onto the mat and raised her fists. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. She frowned at him. "You're not going to break me, Maine."

He actually laughed at that, quiet but genuine. "No," he agreed.

"Well, then – "

He shook his head again, looking oddly helpless. "I'm not – " he waved his hands at the room, encompassing the weapons, the mats, maybe even the people who put them to use during normal waking hours.

"What?" she asked. "A teacher?" He nodded. "Good. I'm not looking to be taught. I know how to fight. I'll even hazard a guess that I've been military a lot longer than you have. I'm just looking for something to hit that's gonna hit me back." She sized him up. "And right now, you're looking like a pretty good target." He still looked concerned, so she started ticking off on her fingers. "Carolina and Connie are deployed, York's still medically grounded, Wash and North would try to go easy on me, Wyoming's hand-to-hand needs some work, Tex and Florida are more likely to actually kill me than do anything useful, and South is a raging bitch." She shrugged. "That leaves you." She lifted her fists again. "What do you say?"

It was her last move, and she half expected that to be the end of it, but this time he nodded, cracking his neck and moving to circle her carefully. She knew from the way he studied her motions that he wasn't going to fall into the same category as North and Wash, that when he came at her, it was going to be for real, and she braced for it, light on her feet, eyes on his, muscle memory taking over as the moment stretched out between them. She opened her mouth to make some smartass comment at him, and that's when he struck, darting in with a fist that she only narrowly blocked, and she launched herself forward, landing two quick strikes to his midsection before slipping back out of his range.

They circled again, reevaluating, and the next time she was the one who struck first, a distracting shot to his face before sweeping a leg around to try to get his feet out from under him. He dodged, and his open-handed hit to her neck stung, but did little damage.

They weren't evenly matched, and it became clear as they fought that he _could_ indeed break her if he wanted, but he still landed each shot he had, taking her on in earnest without unleashing the fury that fueled him on the battlefield. She held back at first as well, learning his movements and reactions, but soon enough she was landing her hits full force, taking him on like a real opponent, and when he finally got her pinned to the mat, he was as breathless and exhausted as she was, which she counted as a victory.

He didn't offer her a hand up, but he backed off almost immediately and tossed a towel at her as she was standing. She caught it easily and ruffled it over her hair before draping it across her shoulders, panting.

"Damn," she said appreciatively, and he made a low sound of approval in reply. "Although I guess you're used to tougher opponents."

"Tougher?" he repeated, and shook his head. She slung the towel off her neck to snap at him with it, and he dodged away with the first full smile she'd ever seen from him lighting his face. He grabbed the end of it and tugged, trying to pull her off balance, but she just followed the motion, stepping into his space and looking up at him, matching him grin for grin.

"What, you want to go again, big guy?" she asked, and something about the way the smile took a while to fade from his face made her suddenly acutely aware of how warm he was, standing there inches from her, both of them breathing heavily and coursing with adrenaline. He shook his head slowly, and she could see his hand flexing open and closed by his side, like he couldn't decide whether to reach for her or hit her again. She suddenly wanted to make the decision for him, to fit herself against his body and take him right there on the mat, his hands tight enough against her to leave marks, her mouth tasting the salt their fight had brought to his skin. Instead, she let out a slow shuddering breath and stepped back, dropping the end of the towel and hearing the soft noise it made as it hit the floor.

"Thanks," she said, her voice a hoarse counterpoint to his, and he nodded again, looking faintly dazed.

Her muscles ached as she turned for the door, and she thought about a long hot shower, eyes closed under the spray, trying not to imagine him pressing up behind her, his hands lifting her effortlessly against the wall.

"Hey." His voice was quiet, rough and barely formed, and she paused without turning. "Rematch?"

She choked out a laugh. "Not now, buddy."

He made an amused rumbling sound. "No," he agreed.

"Yeah," she breathed out, too quiet for him to hear, so she repeated it, louder and stronger, turning to face him and walking backwards towards the door. "Yeah, rematch, Maine. Just name the time and place, and I'll happily kick your ass again."

His mouth twisted into a half smile. "Again?"

"Maybe for the first time," she admitted. She looked him over. "Have you _ever_ had your ass kicked?"

"Yes."

"Hm," she replied, skeptical. "You'll have to tell me that story sometime." He nodded wordlessly, and she knew she'd never hear it, but she smiled at him anyway, giving half a wave before ducking out of the door. She waited until it had closed behind her before she swore a blue streak and headed for the showers.  
______________

"Is it true?"

York was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he met her at the end of the ramp, peering around her into the cargo hold. She slammed her hand against the door controls, blocking him with her body as she strode away from the Pelican.

"Sorry, York, I don't know what kind of rumors people have been feeding you, but I've got work to do, so you'd best get out of my way."

"Come _on_ , Niner," he pleaded. "North said you made a stop – "

"North," she said calmly, "is at least 80% full of shit on any given day."

"I don't know, I'd give him like 65%."

She grinned at him. "You keep numbers on this? I'm going to need a full analysis of the bullshit levels of all Freelancers. For science."

"Come _on_ ," York said.

Niner halted in her tracks and tilted her head in his direction. "Is that whining I hear?" she asked.

He straightened. "No," he said quickly. When she didn't move, he added meekly, "No, ma'am?"

She grinned, glad he couldn't see her inside her helmet. "Ooh, a _ma'am_. You _must_ think I picked up something good."

"Did you?" Wash asked, striding in from the hallway and joining York, and she sighed.

"I have a report to make, boys," she told them, waving them both off. She nodded back towards the Pelican. "You know how this works."

York stopped, and Wash looked between him, the Pelican, and Niner. " _I_ don't," he pointed out.

York pressed a hand to his back as Niner headed for the offices. "Come on, Wash," he said, his voice dropping lower as he steered him away, and Niner let out a sigh as they faded away behind her. "I'll explain."

By the time she made it back to the barracks, it was well into ship's night. She changed quickly, shedding her armor for a basic undersuit, and made her way back to the Pelican carefully, intent on looking like she was in a hurry to get somewhere important.

The plane was still and silent as she boarded, and she made her way back to the cargo bay to inspect their haul. The raid that Florida and Wyoming had pulled netted them not only the mission objective, but also the better part of a pirating ring's stock of booze. She'd had the trusted parts of her crew move some of it off to her various hiding places around the ship in the interim, but what remained was more than enough for a night of relaxation for a team that badly needed it. She reached into one of the crates and grabbed a bottle, pulling the cork with her teeth and toasting the overhead camera cheerily before reaching for the controls to short out all the cameras on the plane.

The first knock was tentative, and she called, "Come in, Wash," without even needing to check the outside feed. She buzzed him in through the cockpit, and he stuck his head back into the cargo bay tentatively.

"I'm early," he said. His cheeks were faintly pink, and she raised her bottle in greeting.

"That means you get first pick," she said generously, and she leaned against the crate as she watched him sort through the options. "York filled you in, then."

He nodded, selecting a bottle and taking the opener she offered him. "This is...I mean, you don't have to do this, you know."

She laughed. " _Have_ to?" she asked. "No. I very much don't have to."

"I mean, you could get in real trouble if the Director – "

"Wash, never for a second allow yourself to believe that the Director doesn't know every single thing that happens onboard his ship."

"Then – "

She shrugged. "I could drink all this myself, but I feel like that might end badly for everyone. Think of it as doing me a favor, yeah?"

He laughed quietly. "Some favor," he replied, but he settled into a launch seat and kicked his feet up on the crate beside her.

The others arrived in small groups, the Dakotas first, North engaging Wash in conversation immediately, and South pulling out a pack of cards and offering it in Niner's direction. She was busy getting soundly defeated as she let in York, Carolina, Connie, and Maine, and waved distractedly in their direction. They paused their game briefly when Florida and Wyoming arrived, toasting them for their brave deeds, and by the time she admitted defeat, South was well into her bottle, and well into Niner's wallet.

"Why do I do this to myself?" she asked, sinking down into the seat beside Carolina and draping an arm across her shoulders.

Carolina shrugged her off. "Because they pay you pilots too well for the amount of sense you have?" she offered.

Maine breathed out a laugh beside her, and Niner glared at him. "From what I hear, you didn't do any better when you played for clothes last week," she pointed out. "You'd think of all people around here, you'd have a good poker face. Is it true she got you all the way down to your skivvies?"

"No," he rumbled defensively, and Connie leaned in from his other side, grinning.

"Only because he doesn't wear them," she said.

Niner raised her eyebrows and looked him over suggestively. At any other time, it would have ended there, as a joke, but the feeling of his warm skin against hers was still fresh in her memory, and as she met his eyes, she found him looking back at her with a matching expression, assessing her frankly the same way he had on the mat.

"I would have paid to see that," she said belatedly, her voice not quite as steady as she wanted, and she ducked out of the conversation as Carolina and Connie turned it towards poker tournaments they had known.

She scanned the plane, and made her way to the back of it, leaning against the cargo bay door and sipping her drink slowly. She tilted her head towards the blank wall beside her and lifted her bottle in a brief toast. "Drink?" she offered.

The sigh was faint, but audible. "How do you do that?" Tex asked.

Niner shrugged. "I know my ship." She waved the bottle again, temptingly.

"No. Thanks."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"Fuck off, Four Seven," Tex replied, and Niner gave her a lazy two-finger salute.

"Gladly."

She made her way through the tangle of conversations towards the front of the plane, letting the door slide shut behind her, and enjoying the relative quiet of the cockpit. "Tex?" Maine's voice asked, and she almost wasn't surprised to look up and find him sitting in the copilot's seat, a faintly amused expression on his face.

"Noticed me talking to myself?" He nodded. "I could just be going crazy. You don't know."

"I know," he replied with the tone of someone who did, so she just nodded in reply.

"I wish she'd uncloak, if only so someone around here would actually give South a run for her money with those cards," Niner said, sighing. She boosted herself up onto the platform to settle in beside Maine's legs. "Do you think she's rigged them?"

"No," he replied.

"Yeah," she agreed, "I guess she's just that good. Plus, North probably wouldn't put up with her cheating us all out of our money." She peered up at him, adding, "and our clothes." He looked faintly embarrassed. "That actually happened?" He nodded. "I guess we won't be getting you into another card game again anytime soon." He shook his head emphatically. "Too bad."

She took the opportunity to scan his body with her eyes again, and this time, there was no one to treat it like a joke, no buffer of Carolina sitting between them. His legs were warm against her side, and the look of frank interest he gave her in return was guarded but genuine. "Oh," she said quietly, and when he reached to carefully touch her face, she closed her eyes, leaning into the feeling of his fingers pressing against her skin. He started by the edge of her hair, tracing down over the bruises that were still fading at her temple, and by the time his thumb brushed over her lips, her breath was quick and shallow, and her whole body wanted to feel him against her. "Well, fuck."

He let out a low laugh, and she opened her eyes, looking up at him. The echo of conversation from the cargo bay was muffled, but distracting, and she sighed, reaching not for him, but for the comm button in front of him. "Sorry, party's over, folks," she called. A collective groan echoed from the back of the Pelican. "You don't have to go home," she said, "but you can't stay here." She stood and reached across him for the control to drop the bay door. "Everybody out." She hesitated a moment before adding, "That means you, too, Tex." They stayed there motionless, their only point of contact the spot where her body pressed to his shoulder as she leaned over him, listening to the sounds of the Freelancers dispersing from the back of the plane. Once silence had fallen again, she closed the bay doors and shut off the comms, looking down at him sitting still and quiet, watching her patiently.

As he looked up at her, their eyes caught and held, and she found herself wanting nothing more than to make him be anything _but_ still and quiet, to make him _move_ , to hear the noises he made without meaning to as she touched him. There was nothing tentative about the way he reached for her, or the way she responded, letting him pull her against him and leaning down to claim his mouth with hers.

His hands wrapped solidly around her waist as she slung a leg over him, and she settled down over his lap as they kissed, feeling him getting hard but still holding back, keeping himself steady beneath her. They weren't gentle with each other, teeth sharp and just on the edge of painful, his fingers tangling into the short ends of her hair and tugging, her hips driving against him until he was gasping into her mouth, but she found herself wanting _more_ , wanting the feeling of his body pressing against her, warm and strong and solid.

He made a low noise of protest as she pulled back, but followed her lead as she hopped down from the platform, leaning back against the wall in the short hallway invitingly. He paused there for just a moment, not touching her, his eyes raking over her body, and then he was on her, his fingers tugging at her pants until he could wrap his hands around her and boost her up against the wall, her legs coming around him, one of her hands holding tight to the back of his neck. "Yes," she breathed into his mouth, and she lost track of how long they rocked there like that, fierce and desperate and teasing, until they were both shaking with need.

They fucked there against the wall, slow and hard, and she got off twice before he came with his face pressed to her throat, muffling his sounds against her skin.

He stayed there like that for a long time, collapsed against her, but still supporting her, and she pressed her cheek to the smooth top of his head, catching her breath and letting her fingers trace patterns across his back. Finally, she slid to the floor, stretching and gathering her clothes in the dim light of the hallway. When she turned to look at him again, he looked the same as he always did, serious and deadly, but he reached to brush her hair back into place with gentle fingers.

She ducked away, smiling, and his smile in return was brief and fleeting. "I'm going to – " she gestured for the back of the plane, and he nodded. He raised his eyebrows and waved a hand in the same direction, but she shook her head. "No, it's fine. I'm just going to make sure no one did anything terrible to this bucket, and then I'm off to bed." He nodded, shifting on his feet for a moment, so she leaned in to give him a little push towards the door.

He turned and opened it, and he had almost closed it behind him when she called after him, "Hey, Maine." He turned expectantly, and she grinned. "Rematch?"

The sound of his quiet laughter followed her back into the cargo hold.  
______________

Missions went wrong.

It was a fact of life, more so in the Freelancer program than anywhere else she'd ever been stationed, but as she watched on the overhead feed as Maine was carried from the hold, his white armor nearly unrecognizable from all the blood, she found herself wondering if she was ever going to hear him laugh again.  
______________

Her hands were shaking.

"Fuck _that_ ," she muttered, clenching them into fists and digging her ragged nails into the palms briefly before returning to the task at hand. The medical crates were heavy and solid, and she wondered if Maine would even have to use two hands to move them. The crate moved slowly, but she had it going steadily for a few paces before her foot slipped against the ramp and it started sliding back down towards her.

"You fucking piece of civilian-grade _horseshit_ ," she cursed it, and landed a solid kick to the side of it before it settled heavily back at the bottom of the ramp.

"What did those poor supplies ever do to you?"

She groaned and folded over to drop her head against her arm on top of the crate. "Go away, Wash."

His footsteps got closer instead, and she felt him lean heavily against the side of the crate. "Want a hand?" he asked mildly.

"No," she replied mulishly, and when he didn't move, she lifted her head to look at him. He was out of his armor, and his hair was rumpled like he'd been running his fingers through it anxiously. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she sighed. "Yes," she admitted.

Together, they maneuvered the supplies up into the hold and bolted them down. "Taking home some souvenirs?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's not often we end up on a civilian medical ship. Better stock up before it's time to cart our patient back home." She leaned back on the crate and eyed Wash. "Any word?"

He shook his head. "They finally figured out I don't have the clearance to be there, and they kicked me out."

She huffed out a laugh. "Do they even _make_ a clearance that high?"

He shrugged. "The Director's in there."

"Imagine seeing _that_ when you wake up?" She winced.

"Maine's not going to wake up," he said. "Not here. The Director wants him transferred back to base ASAP."

"The fewer people who get to poke around inside one of you guys, the better, I'm sure," she said, and almost regretted it for the faintly ill expression that crossed Wash's face. "Guess it's a good thing I made off with these while I could," she said, patting the top of the crate. "Thanks, I guess."

He shrugged. "I'd have let you break your back against them, but then who would pull our asses out of the fire on a daily basis?" He reached to touch her shoulder lightly. "You did good, you know, getting him here. I heard the doctors talking, and if it had been much longer - " he trailed off.

"I'm excellent at what I do, Wash," she said. "And so are these doctors. They're going to do everything they can for Maine. If for no other reason than because they've got the Director breathing down their necks." She managed the ghost of a smile. "You should have heard their dispatch when he got on the radio. It was a thing of beauty." She stood, stretching, and thumped him on the arm. "Come on, let's see if they've got some more cargo we can fling around until he's cleared for transit, yeah? I could hit something for a while."

"Yeah," Wash replied hollowly, but he followed her off the plane, and as she reached to close the hatch, she noticed that her hands were steady again.  
______________

Her fists were moving before she even opened her eyes, flying towards the sound of movement beside her bed, lashing out and connecting solidly with metal plating before armored fingers wrapped around her wrists, holding them steady.

"Whoa, hey," said Carolina's voice, and Niner let her hands drop immediately.

"The _fuck_ , Carolina?" she demanded, sitting up and blinking in the darkness.

Carolina held onto her for a few more seconds until she seemed to decide that Niner wasn't going to take another swing at her, then took her hands back, holding them up defensively. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd wake up."

Niner glared at her. "Which would make it okay for you to be sneaking around my quarters?"

Carolina opened her mouth to object, but closed it again at the look on Niner's face. Instead, she folded down to sit heavily at the edge of the bed. "I figured if anyone around here had something to drink stashed away, it'd be you."

"Gee, thanks," Niner drawled. She switched on the light beside the bed and inspected Carolina. She looked pale and exhausted, and wouldn't quite meet Niner's eyes. "Looks like you could use a bed more than a drink," she pointed out.

"Why do you think I want the drink?" Carolina demanded.

Niner sighed and rolled over to reach for the locker beside her bed. She pulled out a bottle and thrust it into Carolina's hands. "Here," she said. "Can I go back to sleep, now?"

Carolina cracked the bottle open and lifted it to her lips for a long drag, then offered it to Niner. She almost shook her head, but found that she couldn't quite remember the last time she'd had anything to drink. It had been with Maine, she was pretty sure, propped up against the wall by the edge of the hangar, looking out at the universe, and that was enough to make her reach out and take the bottle forcefully from Carolina's hand, managing not to wince as the liquor made its way down her throat.

"How's our patient?" she asked, passing the bottle back. A chill went through her at the look on Carolina's face. " _Fuck_ ," she breathed. "He's not - "

"No!" Carolina's eyes flew up to hers and held. "Jesus, Four Seven. You think this is how I'd tell you?"

She lifted a shoulder. "You Freelancers aren't exactly known for your tact and subtlety."

"He's going to be fine."

Niner laughed dully. "Fine. Right."

Carolina tilted the bottle, drinking deeply. "They're giving him an AI."

" _What?_ "

"They - " she hesitated. "They're not sure he'll be able to talk anymore, on his own, so...I offered up Sigma."

"They're giving him _your_ AI?" Niner asked. She reached to pry the bottle from Carolina's fingers. "Can they _do_ that?"

"They can do whatever they want," she said, her voice pained and bitter. "And he's not mine. He's Maine's."

"An AI," Niner mused. "That's going to be..." She thought about Maine's voice, low and rough, and the way he laughed under his breath, like he didn't want anyone to hear him. "Weird," she finally settled on.

"Weird," Carolina repeated. "Yeah."

They passed the bottle between them quietly for a while, Carolina stretching out to lean against the wall beside Niner.

"What's he like?" Niner finally asked. "Sigma. Do you know?" She thought about Delta and Theta, but the thought of either of them translating for Maine just felt wrong and unnatural.

Carolina shook her head. "I guess we'll find out soon enough. They're probably implanting him right now."

Niner let her head tip back against the wall, closing her eyes. There was a part of her that wanted to leave Carolina there with the bottle and head right for Medical, but what could she even do there? She knew next to nothing about medicine, and even less about artificial intelligence. She breathed out a laugh at the thought of him waking up to find her sitting there hovering anxiously by his bed like they were out of some fucking movie. He'd give her that look, the _don't you have a plane to fly or something?_ one, with just the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his eyes, and it was unnerving to realize how much she wanted that right now, the hell with his voice. Sigma could go take a flying leap, for all she cared.

"Wash is with him," Carolina said, and when Niner opened her eyes and tilted her head to look at her, she was studying Niner like she had just solved a puzzle.

"Good," she replied simply, ignoring the look, and she reached for the bottle and cranked the top back on it. "Think you can sleep now?" she asked.

Carolina considered it for a moment, and nodded. "Maybe," she said.

"You better," Niner told her. She leaned over to return the bottle to her locker. "This team's already down one man right now." She gave Carolina a push, tipping her off the bed. "Out," she ordered.

Niner hit the lights as Carolina opened the door, and she stood there, silhouetted against the hallway for a brief moment.

"I'm sorry," Niner offered, "about Sigma," and Carolina nodded her thanks.

"I'm sorry about Maine," she said quietly, and shut the door behind her before Niner could come up with a reply.  
______________

"Good evening, Flight 479er."

He was standing there in front of her, alive and real, but the voice was too young and polite, so unlike anything she expected to hear from him, that she stood there and stared instead of responding.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," the AI continued, flickering above Maine's shoulder. "Agent Maine has a high opinion of your skills." The pause that followed was almost imperceptible. "As a pilot."

"Good to see it runs in the family," she said, "and Delta's not the only one who's a little shit. Nice to meet you, Sigma. I guess." She looked away from his disturbingly glowing form and inspected Maine through his helmet. "How're you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Agent Maine is feeling well, all things considered," Sigma replied.

"Thanks, Sigma, but I was asking Maine. Do you mind letting me talk to him for a few minutes?" She held up a hand as he started to object, and interrupted with, "I know he can't say anything, but he didn't really do much of that to begin with, so I think we'll be okay."

"I'm sorry, but I am afraid that is not possible," Sigma said.

She frowned at him. "You're a combat AI, buddy. I promise, I don't plan on engaging Maine in any combat. So you're free to – " she waved a hand, "go do whatever it is that you guys do when you're not computing probability of casualties or whatever."

"My primary function is in combat, yes, but I was also implanted in order to act as a translator for Agent Maine. As such, I am designed to be utilized whenever conversation is occurring."

"Maine?" she prompted, looking to him for help, and he made a low growling noise from behind his helmet. She couldn't keep a smile from spreading across her face at the sound. It was indistinct and strained, but it sounded more like _Maine_ than Sigma ever could. It was the same quiet rumble he made to agree with her before his injury, just lower and harsher sounding, and she was not surprised at all to see Sigma cross his arms over his chest defensively.

"If you say so, Agent Maine," he replied, voice dripping with how awful an idea he thought it was. "I will be right here if you need me."

He flickered away, and Maine's body relaxed visibly. Niner peered into his helmet. "Is he gone?" she asked in a stage whisper. Maine shook his head, and she sighed. "Yeah, didn't think so." She stepped back to a more or less professional distance, but he reached out to touch an armored hand to the side of her helmet, brief and deliberate. "Hey," she said quietly. She tapped a finger to his chestplate. "They've got you out training already?" she said, and he nodded. She frowned, concerned. "Is that safe?"

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, and waved a hand, seeming to encompass the ship. She laughed. "Yeah, okay," she agreed. "I guess 'safe' is kind of a relative term around here." She looked at the spot where Sigma had been hovering, then back at him. "Is it…weird?" she asked.

He nodded vigorously, and reached up to his helmet, ducking his head into his hand.

She frowned. "He hurts?" she asked. "I don't think they're supposed to do that. York and North never said – "

"The adjustment period takes some time, Flight 479er," Sigma said, reappearing. "Agent Maine and I are still becoming familiar with each other's thought processes. I assure you, in time the headaches will fade. I do not need to remind you that Agent Maine has also recently suffered a grave physical trauma. His body is still repairing."

"No," she said flatly. "You don't need to remind me of that, Sigma." Maine growled in agreement, and Sigma faded again. "Look, I'll let you – " she waved a hand at the space where he'd been. "Do whatever you need to about that little situation. I just…" she trailed off, shrugging. "I'm glad you're okay."

He nodded.

"Get your ass back in my plane ASAP, okay?" she asked. "Those guys are getting their butts kicked without you." He tilted his head skeptically, and she grinned. "Okay, no, that's a lie. I just miss your witty commentary." He snorted, and it wasn't quite a laugh, but it still made something untwist in her. She reached out to pat him on the arm. "Get better, big guy." She looked towards his shoulder. "Hey, Sigma," she called. He reappeared. "Take care of him, okay?"

"Indeed, I will, Flight 479er," he assured her, and something about his tone sent a chill right down her spine. "Indeed I will."  
______________

"I thought you'd be happier, you know," Wash said, appearing at her elbow. He was in his armor, but his helmet was off, and he leaned against the railing beside her heavily. Below them, Maine was busy shredding targets in the training room. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this doesn't exactly look like your happy face."

"Happy," she repeated, and laughed hollowly. "Nothing's ever that uncomplicated around here, Wash."

"He's alive," Wash pointed out. "That's pretty uncomplicated, the way I see it."

"Is he?" She asked quietly. She hadn't meant to say it, but once the words were out there, she didn't regret them.

Wash rounded on her like he wanted to take a swing at her. " _Seriously,_ Niner?" he demanded.

She held up her hands. "I didn't mean it," she said quickly, and when he relaxed slightly, she leaned back against the rail, looking around. There were cameras, but there were _always_ cameras, so it didn't matter where the words came out, ultimately. "There's something really wrong, Wash."

He looked down at Maine, and she'd been expecting him to argue, but instead he nodded, looking defeated. "His headaches aren't going away. They're getting worse."

"I know," she said. "Have you noticed how he moves?"

Wash looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You could tell the difference, in the beginning, when Sigma was in control and when he wasn't. I could, at least. Maine's always been a powerhouse, but he's never been very precise in his movements. Sigma…he learned how to give him better control, but when they were out of the ring, he'd drop it and let Maine move naturally. Watch him sometime when he's just walking down the hallway, when Sigma doesn't need to be on. He'll still be moving like he is right now."

Wash sighed, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his fingers through his hair. "They're not the enemy, Niner. They're here to give us an advantage. Maybe Maine has just learned to walk like Sigma wants him to."

"Maybe," she agreed. "And maybe Sigma sees him as something to drive rather than someone to collaborate with. You know what he said to him, the first drop we sent them on together?" Wash shook his head. " _Sic_." She paused a moment to let that sink in. "He treated him like a _dog_. Like a weapon to point at people."

Wash laughed harshly. "When have we ever been anything but a weapon to point at people?" he asked. "That's nothing new for this program. That's nothing new for the military at all." He shrugged. "I don't know, Niner. I agree that something's wrong, but all I can do is hope they find a way to fix it sooner, rather than later." He was silent for a moment, watching Maine finish up his match. He turned to look up at them before heading out of the training room, and Niner raised her hand to wave. He stood still, and stared up at her impassively. "They're giving me Epsilon."

She turned to look at Wash. "What? Now? After what happened with Carolina?"

"World keeps turning," he said with a shrug.

" _Wash_."

"They're not the enemy," he repeated, and it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself more than her. He patted her on the arm as he stood to go. "Say hi for me," he said, and headed for the door.

"Hey," she called after him, and he paused without turning. "Good luck, okay?"

He nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly. "Hope I don't need it."

She was alone in the room when Maine emerged, still in his armor, face hidden beneath the shine of his helmet.

"Nice work in there," she told him. "If you ever want to hit something that hits back sometime," she offered, and held out her hands. "You'll have to lose the armor, though. I don't have your enhancements, and that's got to be a fairness violation of some sort."

"Thank you, Flight 479er," said Sigma, "but our training regimen is more than sufficient."

"I wasn't talking to you," she told him.

He turned away, raising a hand to his head, and she winced sympathetically. "Headache?" she asked. "Might want to rethink that training regimen a little."

"Agent Maine is fine," Sigma told her, but they kept their back to her for a long moment, hunching and holding onto their helmet.

"Maine?" she asked finally, stepping forward, her voice unsteady, and when he turned to face her, the face in his helmet belonged to Sigma.  
______________

The Freelancer program died, and she died with it, at least on paper.

The transfer to Command was unexpected and involuntary, but her pilot's license had disappeared with her identity, and Command didn't seem in any kind of hurry to find it again. Even those with the clearance to know who she had been had no interest in seeing her back in a plane, so she sat behind a desk, and she spent her off hours gathering every piece of information she could find about the scattered members of the team.

The morning she sat down at her desk to find the file on Recovery One, the pieces started falling into place.  
______________

"Command? You're breaking up on me, please repeat." Wash's voice was thin and crackly over the connection, and she was barely able to focus on his words, staring up at the man in front of her.

"Hold on," she replied distractedly, "I'm not talking to you, Wash." She covered the mic and turned to the man, her stomach tight with dread as she said, "And – and you're sure?" stumbling over the words like they were unfamiliar.

He wordlessly turned his screen towards her. The feed was patchy and blown out by the harsh lighting, but the hands visible when the person looked down were clearly from Carolina's armor, and when she looked back up, it was Maine reaching for her, her armored fingers fighting at him as he dragged her towards the edge of the cliff. Niner didn't let herself look away as the motion jerked and Maine faded away above her as Carolina sailed over the edge, the feed cutting out abruptly.

She took a shaky breath. "Okay," she said to steady herself, and turned back to the mic. "It's Agent Maine, Wash."

There was a pause, then, "What?"

"Please confirm last transmission, Agent Washington," she said steadily, not sure she would be able to say the words again without her voice breaking.

"Maine?" he asked, like he was hoping for her to retract, to say she was kidding, that she hadn't just issued a kill order on the person in the program they had both been closest to. "How can that be? It's – "

"Please _confirm_ , Recovery One," she insisted, closing her eyes and leaning against her hand over the mic as the man's footsteps faded behind her, trying not to imagine Wash's face at this moment, his stricken look hidden beneath his helmet, his stance too stiff.

"Yeah," Wash said finally, snapping out the word. "It's him. It's the Meta." His transmission started cutting out after that, but she held onto those words, taking them for the offering they were, the indication that they both understood that it _wasn't_ Maine, not really. It was the Meta, not Maine, not Sigma, but something deadly and unstoppable that the two of them had become. Something that had killed the people they cared about, the people _he_ had once cared about. Something that had to be stopped.

The feed was dead by the time she reached out to rewind the footage of Carolina, playing it back, trying not to look for anything familiar in the tilt of Maine's helmet, the way he moved as they fought. She paused it on the shot of Carolina's hands reaching up towards him.

"Good hunting, Wash," she said quietly to the crackling mic.  
______________

"You know," she said, tipping back in her chair and looking at the guy at the console across from her, "I always thought I'd fucking hate this job."

"Yeah?" he asked, looking up at her. "It's all right though, right?"

"No," she replied. "I was right. I fucking hate it."

He tilted his head. "You might feel differently if you ever left your post, you know. There's this thing called sleep…"

"I'll sleep later," she said tersely.

"It's not your mission," he pointed out. "Recovery One. They put Washington on it for a reason."

She glared at him. "Yeah, and they put me on the end of his comms for a reason too, kid."

He looked at her impassively. "What, because you were with the Freelancers?" he asked. "Weren't you just a glorified bus driver?"

"Not even all that glorified," she agreed.

"Command?" Wash's voice was clear and loud in her headset, and she turned away, pressing a hand to her ear.

"Go ahead, Wash."

"We're going to need a cleanup team to our current location."

She swallowed. "Understood," she said. "We'll get them mobilized. Nice work, Recovery One."

He was silent for long enough that she started to think the connection had been dropped, and when he spoke again, it was in an undertone, a voice she hadn't heard from him in years. "Niner."

She flinched. "Don't, Wash," she replied in a matching tone. "Mission accomplished, right?"

"Not by me. The sim troopers sent him over a cliff."

"Carolina would have appreciated that."

He made a quiet choking sound that might have been a laugh. "I bet she would have." He was quiet for a moment. "I guess this is it, huh? No need for Recovery One if there's nothing left to recover."

"I guess so," she agreed. "All absent and accounted for. You'll be contacted soon with your new orders."

"By you?"

She shrugged. "Probably not. Good luck, Agent Washington."

"Same to you, 479er."

She smiled down the line. "That's a negative, Wash. Flight 479er perished in the demise of the Freelancer program."

"Right, my mistake," he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Well, if you see anyone else around there with a pilot's license, let them know that I've got a team of guys who could _really_ use someone with some expertise pulling asses out of fires."

"Roger that, Wash," she said. "Sounds like your men aren't too accomplished in the air. I hear they busted up a Pelican in that fight with the Meta."

"That's right, Command."

"Good," she replied. "The sooner we phase out those dinosaurs, the better."

He laughed. "Affirmative, Command. Over and out."

"Over and out, Agent Washington," she replied, and was left listening to the static on the other end of the line.

"You knew him?"

She looked up, completely having forgotten she wasn't the only person in the room. "Washington?" she asked.

The guy gave her an exasperated look. "The Meta."

"The Meta," she repeated. "No. I don't think anyone ever knew the Meta. I knew Agent Maine."

"Yeah?" He looked impressed. "I hear he was a scary motherfucker."

"The scariest," she agreed.

He grinned. "Did he intimidate the fuck out of you when you met him?"

"When I met him?" she asked. She smiled distantly. "Actually, when I met him, he was laughing."


End file.
